


Good Little Omega

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Fluff, Ardyn and Noctis have a salt-off, Gen, Titus is not a traitor/Glauca doesn't exist, abo spitefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: “Aww,” Prompto offers, and snaps a photo of him, sand-encrusted, exhausted, but oh so proud of himself. “Your dad is going to have a fit when he sees what his baby boy has been up to on his vacation.”“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, closing his eyes and flopping back against the sand. He needs a nap. “He tends to do that.”-----“Your son is going to have a fit when he sees what his kingly father has been up to on his vacation.”Regis chuckles humorlessly, closing his eyes as he leans against the rubble that was once their home. “Yes, I am well aware, Clarus.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So funny story, this was originally meant to be a crack fic played straight about the Special Snowflake Syndrome Omegas tend to have in abo fic, and how "nobody can resist the scent of an Omega and it often triggers a rut". 
> 
> Instead, I got 10k+ worth of Family Feels, Regis being a BAMF, little hints of the amazing brotherhood that is Clarus, Cor and Regis, dad!Cor and Noctis going around pretending he isn't the Prince of Lucis and Navyth totally believing that. Totally. No seriously guys, they don't even look alike, how can he possibly be the Prince of Lucis?? Don't be silly.
> 
> Suffer with me.

Today has been a good day.

 

Sprawled out in the nest he spent the day before his pre-Heat building, Noctis listens to the record playing on the machine beside the bed - on loan from his dad’s office, since it helps keep him calm during his more aggressive Heats - and drifts comfortably in and out of the haze, the smell of the lemongrass candles burning nearby making him feel like he’s in a dream. His blinds are shut, the light of the candles throwing shapes onto the far walls, conjuring up stories of dragons and knights and the recollection of his father’s voice in this very room when he was younger, filling it with amazing stories.

 

All in all, it’s the perfect mixture to keep him relaxed and stop the cramps from Hell from ripping his insides to smithereens. He can ride out the next week in quiet peace, getting up only to briefly visit the bathroom and walk around a little bit before climbing right back into bed and napping all day. The only thing that might make it better would be a chance to fish, but honestly that’s one of those ideas that probably sounds better in his head than in actuality. The weather outside is starting to turn stormy as autumn leaves what summer held previously, cooler mornings taking over where heat had previously been. 

 

It’s the kind of weathers for bonfires and s’mores, hot chocolate and staying indoors with lovers or friends of choice, curling up with a good book or TV show or the newest video game. All things he and his friends will likely partake in along the coming weeks. Once the negotiations with Niflheim finally kick in and it stops feeling like an exercise in patience. 

 

But that won’t be for at least another week yet - Regis had made sure the delegation from Gralea understood they were busy this week, and wouldn’t be able to entertain. Which everyone in the Citadel knows to mean Noctis would sink fully into his Heat, and not want to emerge from his bedroom for anything until it passes. Peace and quiet would help his nerves a lot more than dealing with Niflheim’s arrogance would. And this is the closest thing to “scheduling around” Noctis would allow. Regis had been fully willing to kick the entire delegation to the curb, but Noctis had reasoned that it was only a week, it would be over soon, and getting this treaty sorted would go a much longer way to helping everyone along than kicking Niflheim out the door would.

 

No matter how much they might like the idea.

 

Unfortunately, it is here that Noctis’ comfort ends. Because at this point, some almighty God in the Hexathon, or perhaps an Outsider God, decides the following:

 

The first is that Noctis is entirely  _ too  _ comfortable. The second is that Niflheim clearly hasn’t been enough of a pain in everyone’s neck, and so they should be ruder. Much ruder.

 

Which is how, not fifteen minutes later, there’s the softest little tapping at his door, and when Noctis makes a questioning noise, opens up to reveal one of the younger maids. “Apologies, sir,” she says quietly, keeping her voice low. “But I’m afraid His Royal Majesty has sent me to collect you. Your presence is requested in the meeting chambers as soon as you can possibly arrive.”

 

“Eh?” Noctis asks, raising his head and looking at her. “Why? Som’thin wrong with Da?”

 

“No sire. The delegation from Niflheim has returned, insisting that whatever ‘business’ Regis asked for a week to deal with can’t be so important as their treaty. We’ve been made to let them in, and your father is currently trying to get them set up accordingly. I apologize again, sire. I wouldn’t be here unless I had no choice.” She curtsies, clearly out of her element, but also not wanting to upset him. Smart girl.

 

Noctis looks over at his nice candles, over at the music player borrowed from his father’s office, and then down at the nest he built himself and is so very nice and warm. And he thinks of how his lovely day is now ruined because there’s Niflheim trash in his home.

 

“Fuck me,” is all he says, and pushes himself up out of bed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything form-fitting right now. Grab one of my dad’s old suits or something.”

 

“Already here, sire,” the maid says, turning to what he realizes is a small cart behind her, holding up a familiar striped suit for inspection. “King Regis ordered it brought down himself. We’ll be skirting a lot of lines, but they can’t technically do anything but complain.”

 

“Let them,” Noctis says, taking the suit from her and hobbling over to the bathroom. “I need the target practice.”

 

_**0-0-0-0-0-0-0** _

 

There’s been an additional seat brought up next to Regis’ throne. It looks out-of-place, even being made out of carved ebonwood as it is, beautiful silver silk padding that Noctis appreciates more than he can say right now. Regis is already seated, and he knows the older man put that chair there as both a way to protect him and to protect the delegates from him - because Noctis has precisely zero qualms about picking fights during his Heats, especially with people that deserve it. He sucks in a breath, stepping into the room like he owns it. “Really, Da?”

 

“Really, my son,” Regis says with a sigh. He smiles, though there’s no humor in it. “You look…”

 

“Exhausted? Deeply dissatisfied? Utterly furious at being interrupted? My cramps literally  _ just  _ stopped, Dad. I was having a  _ good day.” _

 

Regis winces at this. Noctis’ body does not take the Heats lightly, and more often than not Noctis spends them curled around the biggest source of warmth he can find, trying to black out through sheer willpower to avoid the pain. Good days are far too rare, and more often than not, interrupted.

 

“Believe me, if I could leave you in your room for the duration of this mess, I would. But we started these meetings together, and the delegates will take issue unless we both are here when they start speaking.”

 

“Ugh. Please tell me you have Ignis’ coffee on hand, at least?” Ignis and his creations are one of the few things that can keep his temper in check during these kinds of interruptions, and many a life has been saved by his home-brewed coffee. Although part of him does feel bad about bothering Ignis on his day off.

 

“Your young Hand had several pots brewed hot and ready for you. It seems he had something of a premonition about something happening today. They’re in thermos in the kitchen. I’ll have them sent for, and keep them by your side.”

 

“Not very regal,” Noctis jokes as he sits down, the cushions on the chair sinking down to cradle his aching back and spine. “A King with his cranky brat Prince sitting beside him, drinking coffee.”

 

“They have no room to speak of regality when they so boldly marched in here and  _ demanded  _ I allow them in,” Regis says mildly, picking up the forms he’s put on the arm of the throne with one hand, and taking Noctis’ own hand with his other, stroking a thumb across the back of it. The contact helps calm down some of the rage boiling in his stomach, and the coffee the same maid that retrieved him earlier fetches and offers with another courtesy do the rest. 

 

“Bless Ignis,” he mutters as he drinks. “He needs a raise. And a vacation.”

 

Regis chuckles as he listens to him mutter. “His uncle, back when he was my Hand before Weskham, used to do much the same. I miss him dearly. Tobias always seemed to know what I needed even before  _ I  _ did. The only one who was on that level was your mother, and she was much more aggressive than Tobias was.”

 

“Don’t lie, Da. I know Tobias probably chased you all over the Citadel, trying to make you eat your greens.”

 

“I think you’re projecting, darling.”

 

“And I think you’re in denial. So where  _ are  _ our least-favorite leeches at?”

 

“Cor went to escort them here, seeing as they weren’t about to wait for me to actually be here before they got started. Clarus I believe is either on his way here, or went to help Cor and then come back here. Either way, please try to mind your manners. I don’t expect perfection, but no outright death threats or vows of cutting manhood off if they look at you.”

 

“I make no promises. Give me no reason to issue threats, and I’ll leave them be,” Noctis says, taking another mouthful of coffee. “And tell them to keep their hands to themselves. First one to touch me loses his guts.”

 

Regis pats his hand sympathetically, but before he can do more than that the doors to the room open again, and Regis is straightening up, no longer projecting the aura of Noctis’ father, but of King. He doesn’t let go of Noctis’ hand however, and Noctis turns his head, sparing a look over the rim of the thermos at the intruders.

 

They stink; even from this distance he finds himself wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of death, decay, and something distinctly mechanical coating them. Noctis knows their faces and names, and as his eyes settle on the Research Chief, he feels a deep curl of unexplainable disgust move through him. There is something  _ not right  _ about Verstael Besithia, he is convinced. Of course, he doesn’t say so to Regis, or even out loud. Merely keeps a closer eye on the man, and takes in the other members of the little group entering the room.

 

There’s Ravus - big surprise there. Lunafreya’s older brother got promoted after Caligo bit the dust, and there was no other Gralea-born soldier that would take up the mantle. Supposedly the position is cursed, for all that Ravus treats it like a nuisance. Noctis can read him enough now to know he smells Noctis. He blinks briefly, something like surprise fluttering over his face before disappearing back beneath the scowl. Unlike the others in the room, Noctis doesn’t have to worry about  _ him  _ spreading rumors - the older brother in him is terribly protective of Noctis, though he’ll never admit it.

 

Loqi is there, talking to a woman Noctis doesn’t recognize. Regis knows that, because he tilts one of the pages enough for his son to catch a name and a brief description - Aranea Highwind, Commander of the Third Army Corps 86th Airborne Unit. She catches his eye, and something like a knowing smirk plays across her face. She inclines her head just enough before turning back to Loqi, who pauses long enough to offer Noctis a stiff nod and something that isn’t quite a repressed sneer. Clever - he’s evidently learned since the last time he caught Noctis off-guard and nearly lost his head for it.

 

And then of course, there’s Aldercapt leading the procession, looking quietly smug about the whole affair. Like he didn’t do this one thing specifically to piss them all off, knowing there’s not  a damn reason they can come up with to turn them away at the door. Noctis has a handful of reasons, but none of them have substantial weight, and certainly wouldn’t hold up in a court, most of them revolving around ‘I utterly loathe your entire being and wish you would hurry up and die already’.

 

And then to wrap up the entire shitshow, Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim, stands ever ready at the right shoulder of his Emperor. Noctis loves and hates the guy by turns, simply because of how positively salty the guy can get over some of the stupid decisions Aldercapt makes. Granted he’s still pulling for the Emperor, but Noctis aspires to be so positively unflappable one day while also calling everyone’s intelligence into question.

 

“Well, it took you long enough, Regis,” Aldercapt drawls, and Noctis feels his eye twitch, hand tightening around the thermos of coffee. “And here I was thinking you’d leave us out in that waiting room forever. Shouldn’t you have more care towards your Imperial guests?”

 

“Shouldn’t  _ you  _ have the brains to realize that when you barge into someone’s house unannounced, they’re not precisely going to be happy to see you?” Noctis drawls right back, turning everyone’s attention towards him. “My god, it’s almost like we told you we were going to be busy this week, or something. You’re positively right Emperor, how dare we not drop everything and come running to your side. Our  _ sincerest apologies.” _

 

Regis squeezes his hand as he takes another sip of coffee, maintaining deliberate eye contact with Aldercapt as he does. He sees Aranea’s mouth twitch up and twist as she fights back a smile, and even Izunia seems amused by his sudden sharp tongue, raising an eyebrow in a slow movement. 

 

“Now, now,” Ardyn says, coming forward to bow to them both. “His Majesty is a very busy man, but he chose to come and sort this business out despite everything else he had going on. He’s made some rather impatient people wait while we’ve come here to finalize the treaty. Don’t you think you should show a bit more gratitude?”

 

“His bad life decisions are not my problem,” Noctis says. “And more to the point, given we’re the ones hosting the treaty, you’re the ones that need to show gratitude. Unless you’d rather just hand over your resources and land now and let us bleed your people out on the streets?” It goes unsaid that demanding audience when the King has stated he won’t have time for them isn’t just a social faux pa, but a very big political one as well. They could demand recompense for their lost time, if it suited them.

 

Regis has never been that kind of a king, but the delegates don’t need to know that.

 

Izunia grins, sharp and approving. “It’s precious how you think Niflheim hasn’t backed you into a corner.”

 

“Ever hear the expression, ‘The cornered rat bites the cat’, Chancellor? By all means, keep pushing.” He returns the smirk with one of his own. “I’m sure it’ll end well for you.”

 

“If you two are quite  _ done,”  _ Ravus grits out, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “We should get onto the business of the treaty. Chancellor, kindly stop your flirting and  _ move along.” _

 

_ You call that flirting? I’ve seen better displays from Prompto when he wasn’t even trying.  _ But he takes another mouthful of coffee, and lets his da smooth down the temper Aldercapt kicked up, settling himself more firmly in the chair. He’s said he’ll at least attempt to behave, and he’s not about to make a liar of himself. 

 

For the first twenty minutes, it almost seems doable. Chancellor Izunia brings up bits and pieces of the to-be treaty that still need additional details, and they get those sorted. Nobody gets called any names or has their parenting brought into question. Regis’ own replies are solid, patient, his voice easier to pay attention to than the Chancellor’s. It almost seems like Niflheim won’t be a massive pain in the ass, and Noctis can get away with drinking coffee and relying on his father’s scent and touch to keep him grounded.

 

And then Izuna holds up a copy of the treaty, and says, “Upon our wise and noble leader’s advice, we’ve added a possible clause concerning future marriages between Houses, should that come to pass.”

 

Okay, fine, Noctis thinks. It’s actually probably a half-decent idea, given they’re going to be trying to get along in the future. Best to hash out who keeps what coming into the marriage, dowrys and such, child, expectations, etcetra.

 

Except two seconds into reading the copy, Regis’ breath hitches, and his scent changes, causing Noctis to sit up in his seat and lean over his father’s arm to read. Turns out he doesn’t need to though, because his father says in a tone just shy of being influenced by Alpha powers, “ _ Any marriage candidate of Omega origins will surrender all autonomy to their superior partner upon the agreed courting period and following marriage. At no point may the Omega back out from the courting, or speak ill of their future spouse.”  _ Is this your idea of a  _ joke,  _ Aldercapt? We’re not in the Dark Ages anymore!”

 

“Oh come now,” Aldercapt simpers, and something about the curve of his mouth, the cruel glint to his eyes as he looks not at Regis, but at  _ Noctis.  _ “Omegas are such  _ emotional  _ creatures. Driven by their body’s needs and instincts. Being as tiring as that is, you must admit it would be wise to allow the handling of everything else to their partner, surely? After all, emotional labor is still labor.”

 

There’s a ringing in Noctis’ ears, and the world around him after Aldercapt speaks those words seems oddly frozen. In something like slow motion he can see the shuffling of the group, the uneasy sensation of something like  _ fear  _ creeping through them. He can see the way Ardyn is smiling, but for once it isn’t mocking. He’s watching Noctis like he knows  _ precisely  _ what’s fixing to happen.

 

Maybe he does. He had an Omega brother, according to their information. So he probably knew well ahead of time the bomb Aldercapt was rigging up to explode, and while he’s posturing and hand waving to make it seem like he’s on Aldercapt’s side, but he’s not even close anymore. At least not on this matter.

 

“I would have thought you a smarter man, Aldercapt,” Regis says lightly, his tone belied by the dark look on his face. “Than to add something so  _ disgusting  _ to a treaty and attempt to pass it off as  _ helping the Omega.  _ Strike it from--”

 

And Aldercapt scoffs.  _ Scoffs.  _ “I knew it,” he says scornfully. “Your son has softened you, Regis. You’ve spent too much time playing nanny and not enough time ruling. Were you any kind of actual king, you would see the brilliance to my decision - Omegas are not equipped for  _ anything.  _ Alphas and Betas haven taken the world by storm, filling in positions the world over. But where have the Omegas dug themselves in? At home, in beds and at stoves. You speak as if they have  _ power,  _ Regis. As if they would do something with what they have been given. There is no point on keeping what the ungrateful will not  _ use,  _ so the best thing to do is remove it.”

 

And there’s that ringing again. Except this time Noctis can feel his rage boiling up, a steady wave of rising pressure. He meets Ardyn Izunia’s eyes again.

 

The man inclines his head, and very deliberately steps to one side. Noctis slowly brings himself to his feet, no longer feeling like he’s fixing to keel over and die from cramps. He couldn’t care less about his body right now, because he has more important things to deal with. Like Aldercapt’s incredible amounts of bullshit.

 

“August 15th, 1669,” Noctis’ voice rings out across the chamber. “Sangarinus Maximinus, a known Omega and the only one in his town, holds back a murderous conclave of no less than two hundred Alphas on the battlefield of Wexton. He dies from old age.”

 

He’s never been so happy to have listened to Ignis’ varied history lessons in all his life. He has  _ so much ammo  _ against Aldercapt, and the bastard doesn’t even have the nerve to know it.

 

“September 19th, 1722, Cassia Plautis burns down a rice mill with herself still inside of it to prevent bandits from attacking her town to the north. She dies, but the bandits die with her and give the town enough time to rally up before the next wave hits. Because of her, countless generations survive.

 

“December 1st, 1997, Cornelia  and Petellia Iocundus are promised to a pair of Alpha men who have ridden into their town looking for rich women to marry. When their father refuses to listen to their concerns, they cut off their hair, hide their scent, bind themselves and sneak into their homes acting like yard boys looking for work. They discover their to-be spouses are rapists and flesh trades, and not only free the people they’ve taken, but break up the operation and bring it to the attention of the local police and ministry under their  _ legal names,  _ and are given the highest honors for doing so.”

 

“February 23, 2014, Labrax Matho prevents a terrorist from using a lethal chemical bomb from destroying fourteen towns across the eastern coast. He dies and is named a hero for it.”

 

“And finally today, Emperor Aldercapt stands in front of the King of Lucis and his son, and after barging into his house and casting insult to everyone and the four winds, proceeds to tell the King he is  _ soft,  _ insinuate he is  _ unfit for ruling,  _ and proceed to patronize everyone in the room by pretending a sexist marriage law added in last-second to the treaty isn’t a heavy-handed attempt to control the Prince, and also not a way to gain the upper hand given Gralea and her surrounding lands are known for producing higher outputs of Alpha and Beta children, while Lucis tends to produce more Omegas. Did I miss anything, Chancellor?”

 

“No,” Ardyn says peacefully, “I don’t believe you did, highness. Although I should like to add, Somnus Lucis Caelum was the first in the line of Lucis, and a known Omega besides. And the Gods chose to bless him and his people despite that little niggle of knowledge.”

 

Okay, he’s going to send this guy a fucking  _ fruit basket  _ when he’s done, enemy or no enemy. 

 

“And what,” Aldercapt practically snarls through gritted teeth, “Is your point,  _ Prince Noctis?” _

 

Noctis cocks his head and examines Aldercapt. Shifts gears in his head, as Clarus carefully shuffles a few steps closer to him from behind. He can feel the Glaives and Crownsguard lingering outside the doors, making excuses to walk past and overlap each other. Noctis isn’t putting out distress, but the people can feel the flux in his magic, and they’re reacting to it as if it were distress.

 

“Loqi’s back is terribly open,” Noctis says at last, very softly. “As is your Chief Researcher. A second, at most. Dead.” He steps to the right, moving closer to the retinue without making it seem so. “The chandelier overhead blocks your Highwind from diving up, and on the ground she’s as vulnerable as anyone else. It would be a fight, but not a long one. Five seconds at most. Dead. Ravus has responsibilities in Tenebrae he can’t overlook, so he would surrender and live to fight another day, smart man that he is. Dead. Izunia is impressive, but he’s only one man. Dead.”

 

The silence in the room is nearly overwhelming. The fact that Regis hasn’t interrupted means he knows the point Noctis is making, and supports it. He’s probably as tired of listening to Aldercapt talk shit as Noctis is.

 

“The thing nobody likes to remind others is that before the Alphas and Betas claimed the war-fields for their own, Omegas were fighting to defend themselves. Our bodies can take quite a few hits. And a very good portion of those in Lucis are trained fighters beside. Do you really think we’d roll over and let a few pieces of trash trample over us because of our  _ nature?” _

 

He steps back towards his father. There’s a shattered sound of glass breaking, and then voices are crying out in shock, Loqi stumbling back, nearly falling ass over teakettle as Noctis reappears a mere fingerspan away from Aldercapt. He reaches out and taps the old man’s forehead with a single finger.

 

“Dead.”

 

“Holy shit,” Highwind murmurs, almost too quiet for Noctis to hear. “Kid’s got big fucking steely ones.”

 

Ardyn makes a delighted sound in response, clearly enjoying this. He’s probably not used to someone being as salty as him and stealing the show. It’s probably like a minor vacation for the guy. 

 

He warps back to the throne, and nonchalantly plops himself back down in his seat, reaching for another thermos of coffee. “You may continue, Chancellor,” he says, putting enough Regal Authority in his voice to where everyone and their mother can hear the insult he’s kicking right back in Aldercapt’s face.

 

Izunia’s practically grinning. “As you say, Majesty,” and he bows.

 

Regis takes his hand again, squeezing it once, before the talking begins anew. Nobody brings up the marriage clause again.

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


It takes a good part of the rest of the damn day for the Niflheim delegates to be anywhere close to satisfied with the edits made with the treaty. Although absolutely no progress has been made; today has been spent putting Aldercapt’s ‘ideas’ to their death, well-deserved and early as it is. Every new idea has some spin designed to benefit Niflheim while spiting everyone else, and by the time the third suggestion comes up, Noctis has gone from snapping back to letting out a low snarl of displeasure. Izunia seems to be getting just as incensed as Noctis about the various issues, and some of his cheek actually seems to be aimed at the Emperor for once. Regis isn’t any more impressed, but after letting Noctis handle the marriage issue, he’s been much more firm about the whole matter, letting it be known in no uncertain terms that the disrespect placed towards Lucian people will not be tolerated. 

 

By the time Loqi’s cape leaves the chamber, the doors closing behind the delegation as Clarus and Cor see them all out, Noctis is well and truly ready to pick a fight with the first person he sees. Including his own father it turns out, as Regis goes to touch his arm and Noctis  _ growls,  _ all fury and caged upset bound beneath his skin. 

 

As the Alpha of the Citadel’s pack, and Noctis’  _ father  _ beside, Regis could order him to stand down, but doesn’t. He patiently waits, letting his hand over in the space between the chairs, as Noctis bares teeth and growls, but doesn’t lash out. He could, but it wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he’s looking for because  _ Regis  _ isn’t the problem. He knows that, and uses the coldness of that fact to drive the anger in his chest back. 

 

“Sorry,” he manages, once he’s no longer growling and feeling like he needs to rip Regis’ arm off. “I’ll just… go back to my room now.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Regis asks softly, because he knows his son’s fluxs and fades, and yeah, no, Noctis doesn’t really want to be anywhere right now. He kind of just wants to stop existing for like… a quarter of an hour. 

 

He runs hands over his face instead. “Kind of? It’s tempting to go to Angelgard instead and lock myself up in one of their cells for like. Bunches of hours.”

 

Regis’ lips twitch upward at that a little. “A feeling we share in common,” he says, “Although I tend to want that after the Council stampedes their way into my home to inform me of their feelings on one of my rulings after they had said only hours prior they agreed with it.”

 

Noctis laughs a little at that. He can see it now, his dad in a dressing gown and nightcap, debating the merits of just retiring to Angelgard while self-important nobles ramble on at unholy hours of the night. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever managed to get Clarus to agree with you on that matter.” He glances up as the door opens. 

 

“No,” Clarus says, closing the door behind him. “And I never will, no matter how many times you ask. And before you go thinking the same thing Noctis, I’ve already informed Gladio of what he is to say if you  _ do  _ try to prompt your group into an ‘impromptu vacation’ to the island.”

 

“There could be undiscovered species of fish there! You never know.” Noctis deliberately widens his eyes in an innocent fashion and holds his hands out as if pleading his case. Clarus just rolls his eyes, and flaps a hand as if dismissing the thought. 

 

“All kidding aside however, do you want to return to your nest for the night?” Regis asks, standing and offering Noctis a hand. They might not have an audience right now, but skinship still keeps the worst of Noctis’ temper at bay. “Or would you like to call one of your friends, perhaps spend a night with them?”

 

The offer is tempting. Bunking with Prompto is always a good idea, given the other Omega usually falls into Heat around the same time, and doesn’t mind cuddling up with Noctis to ignore a good portion of it. Gladio will complain at first, but they both know he has no qualms tucking Noctis to him and folding himself around him. Ignis isn’t into touching, for all that he will happily let Noctis use his bedroom for a Heat chamber if he doesn’t feel like going anywhere else. He tends to go for Ignis if he’s feeling overstimulated by everything, and just needs to get  _ away.  _

 

Tonight though, the idea of returning to his room just doesn’t sound ideal at all. Or bunking with anyone else. But he does want to sleep, and he doubts the guard will appreciate their Omega Prince wandering around in the visages of a Heat. When the Omega of a pack is moving during a Heat, it tends to put the entire pack on edge, because they’re incredibly vulnerable. Noctis’ little stunts with the warping earlier could have gone badly, because their magics are in flux during this time, and not reliable to use. They can put things in the Armiger still, but half the time pulling things  _ out  _ results in a random item, or nothing at all. Better to wait for the Heat to wear off and then rush into battle than try it when everything’s gone wonky.

 

“Not really feeling any of those options, pops,” Noctis tells him. “Sleeping would be nice, though.” Now that his adrenaline has gone down and his temper with it, his body is starting to feel sluggish.

 

Regis hums. Clarus gives him a  _ look,  _ as if to say  _ don’t try to pretend you’re not going to do it.  _ “Well then, I know you’re a bit old for it, but what about spending the night with me? The bed is certainly big enough.”

 

Noctis blinks. That… actually sounds nice. He’d be in a protected area of the Citadel, with someone he knows he can trust, and he doesn’t have to worry about behaving ‘proper’ for once. “You don’t mind the smell of Omega all over your blankets? I’ve been told those are hard to wash out,” he teases.

 

Regis snorts. “I take it Gladiolus is who told you that lie? Clarus used to say the same thing when we were younger.”

 

“Regis! Don’t tell him that!” Clarus hisses, scandalized. 

 

“Oh please. As if that boy of yours isn’t as skin-hungry as you were at his age.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, not batting an eye as his dad’s Shield goes pink around the ears. Clarus is hard to embarrass, but Regis always manages it without failure. “Gladio does tend to whine a lot when he wants to cuddle. S’why I usually make excuses before heading over.”

 

“Amicitia men and their pride,” Regis mutters. “They want all the cuddles in the world but will never admit it on pain of death.”

 

“Someone needs to write a self-help book. ‘How To Admit You’re A Cuddle Monster 101’.”

 

Regis snorts. “Indeed. Now, I think we’ve poked the Shields long enough. It’s time for bed.”

 

“Amen,” Noctis agrees heartily. “...I don’t suppose you’d be willing to indulge chocolate chip pancakes in the morning?”

 

Regis doesn’t even bat an eye. “Ask the maids to make the blueberry scones I like alongside them, and you’ve got yourself a bargain.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“You two are terrible,” Clarus complains behind them.

  
  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


The next morning at breakfast, Regis says, “You know, I’ve been thinking it’s time you and your boys took a vacation.”

 

Mouth full of chocolate chip pancake, Noctis chews and swallows before answering. “What’s with this all of a sudden?”

 

“Well, you’ve been working hard helping me with the treaty, not to mention keeping up with your school work and still finding time to visit the various charities around the city. And I thought, given the stresses of recent events, a vacation is in order. Perhaps to the Quay, given the fishing festival is due to start soon. Do you not like the idea?”

 

“Fishing festival?” Noctis perks up, interest visible. Clarus’ lips twitch and he has to turn his head to avoid giving himself away. Gladio really wasn’t joking when he mentioned Noctis’ obsession with fishing. “What’s that about?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting for all the fishing excursions you take, you’ve never actually been to one of the festivals. Well, it usually lasts anywhere from two to four days, and it’s basically a large competition to try to catch the biggest fish in the area. You can fish from anywhere, granted it’s not a protected area, and you’re put into brackets against other anglers. It’s quite a bit of fun, and the prizes you can win aren’t anything to sneer against either.”

 

Noctis’ eyes have gone glazed as he imagines it, and Clarus has to bite down harder to prevent himself laughing, because Gladio gets that same look on his face when he talks about camping, and it’s  _ adorable.  _ Regis evidently feels the same, if the little smile he has on his face is any indication. 

 

“But if you’d rather not take a vacation there--” Regis dangles the bait temptingly, and like the master fisherman he is, Noctis takes it.

 

“No! No, I think that sounds like an  _ excellent  _ idea! I’ll, uh, call Prom and the others after breakfast, make sure they’re available. So, em. When does this festival start, precisely?” He starts digging back into his food a little faster, chowing down as he listens to his father explain the dates and the rules. He’s like a kid in a toy store.

 

_ Look at the ceiling, Clarus,  _ Clarus tells himself,  _ marvel at the architecture you’ve seen ten thousand times. Count the tiles. Do not look at Noctis. Ooh. Ahh. Yes, very square. Hmm.  _

 

Once Noctis is gone, breakfast vanished from his plate with him and a grateful ‘thank you for the excellent meal’ towards the maids as they come to collect his dishes, Clarus turns towards his smug monarch.

 

“A vacation, huh?” he asks. “Tell the truth. Is this because of what happened last night, or is there something I need to be made aware of?”

 

Regis’ smile turns down a little. “He does need a vacation, Clarus. Don’t think I haven’t seen the signs.”

 

Noctis  _ has  _ been working himself hard. There hasn’t been a single person that’s complained about his grades or the effort he’s exerting lately, and both men have seen it themselves over the course of the last few weeks. Yesterday was a culmination of all that, which plays a good part in why neither of them went off when Noctis snapped back. He needed an outlet, and they weren’t about to stop that.

 

Clarus might also be indulging Noctis in his own way, but given the way the treaty is panning out, restraint might not be the best option right now.

 

“How that boy did not turn out spoiled rotten, I will never know,” he says. He doesn’t mean it as a bad thing, but they both know Regis has always indulged Noctis growing up, and even does so now. Granted it’s far less, but Noctis doesn’t ask for nearly as much, and what he does is easy to grant, simply because it mainly consists of trips to places for him and his friends.

 

“Because you and all the others have tempered his softness with steel, my friend,” Regis says. “You’ve never underestimated him, secondary gender or no, but you’ve never pushed him past what boundaries he feels comfortable staying at. You’ve taught him values I couldn’t, or wouldn’t have been able to, and because of that, he’s never grown up spoiled.”

 

“He’s a good kid,” Clarus allows. “If anything goes wrong with the treaty, I know between the four of them they’ll make it. It’ll be hard, but they’ll make it.”

 

Regis sighs, leaning back and considering his half-eaten scone. “I’m hoping nothing goes wrong, but Aldercapt isn’t budging much. It’s clear he’s trying to bait us into a war.” He shudders suddenly, and Clarus stiffens as Regis’ scent  _ changes. _

 

“Regis? Are you--” And then he stops, because he’s aware again of the heat that he thought was a hot flash this morning, and he realizes with something like shock it  _ isn’t. _

 

“Did  _ he, _ ” he amends, and Regis nods grimly, teeth just barely peeking out through his lips. 

 

“It’s amazing, how much our bodies know before we do. Noctis’ Heat was no ill-timed thing, it seemed, but a plot. We’ll have to make ready.”

 

“Of course,” Clarus says, barely able to breath as the realization crashes over him. “Cor?”

 

“Already brought it up this morning. And he’s reported similar issues throughout the Crownsguard. Prepare yourself, Clarus. And if we should fall, then thank you for following me as far as you have.”

 

“You’re my friend, Regis. Before all else, even before you were my King. If you think I wouldn’t follow you to the ends of Eos and back still, you’re mistaken.”

 

Regis smiles up at him, and it feels like they’re twenty-something again, and ready to take on the world. “Yes, I know.”

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


They see Noctis off six days later, the Regalia already waiting out front and loaded with supplies. Regis has quietly ensured several additions get added to the car courtesy of Cid, and that they have enough food and supplies to keep them going a month out, if something  _ does  _ happen. He sends orders out for everyone working within the Citadel to take scent blockers, not only to give them an advantage, but also to prevent Noctis from turning right around and coming back to them. The only thing worse than an enraged Alpha is an enraged Omega, and that’s simply because they tend to go  _ feral.  _

 

“Take care on the long road,” Regis says, and means to say much, much more, but Titus’ hand on his elbow stops him. Any more and it would give this game away, and he can’t risk Noctis. Won’t. If it truly is nothing, he’ll see him back safe and his trunk full of fish a week from now. 

 

And if not, well. Better not to tarnish this memory with dire words and unhelpful advice.

 

Noctis grins up at him, easy and bright. “We’ll be safe, Dad. Try not to drown under the nobles while I’m gone, yeah?”

 

“I’m certain Clarus has a pair of inflatable arm bands around here somewhere I can borrow.”

 

His boy rolls his eyes, and hugs him. Regis forces himself to memorize this, remember the feeling of his son tucked to his chest one last time. 

 

_ It might be nothing,  _ he tries to tell himself, even though he knows in his gut it isn’t.  _ He’ll be far away and safe. They won’t search for him, not while we stand. _

 

“Drautos, he’s in your hands!”

 

Titus nods, mouth pinched as the Prince moves away, turning and heading down to the Regalia. Cor is wrapping up his conversation with Prompto, who looks nervous, but he’s standing tall, nodding as Cor claps his shoulder. He flinches at whatever Cor says next, and his head turns away, mouth trembling suspiciously. But he still nods, and steps away as Cor does.

 

Nobody in the Citadel would dare tell Cor Leonis to his face that he’s got a son in that child, but they all know the truth. Even Cor himself, as he watches Ignis fire up the engine and drive off. There is no stalwart soldier in that look, only the quiet devastation of a man who knows he likely will not see his son again. 

 

Once the kids are gone, everyone takes a second to collectively grieve this fact. There are no tears becauses there is no time - but the pain shared silently between them is understood. 

 

Then Regis sucks in a deep breath, and straightens himself the way he hasn’t in years, puts weight on his leg and relishes the rush of pain it brings. “Let’s go,” he orders sharply, and all at once everyone puts aside their grief and gathers their willpower to their chest. They follow him into the Crystal room, where Regis puts his cane aside and walks to it of his own power.

 

“Draconian, Father of War, I would humbly ask for your blessing this day,” he intones, and the Crystal seems to hum with new energy, foreign energy as the God hears his voice. “We stand on the brink of destruction, and we would seek your favor as we go to war against the tides Niflheim brings.”

 

He kneels, bowing his head. Behind him, Cor and Clarus follow. Once, he wouldn’t have considered this option, wouldn’t have gone to the Draconian to champion their city. His father never had, and he’d followed his father’s examples for years. Now however, his Rut has taken over following Noctis’ silent command, and he knows he can’t waste this opportunity. The Citadel will fight hard to keep themselves safe, but there’s no shame in stacking the deck in their favor.

 

He has to be here when Noctis comes back. He knows his boy is strong, that he would be a magnificent king if Regis  _ were  _ to fall, but that time hasn’t come yet. Will not come until Regis is ready.

 

Bahamut evidently agrees, because even before Regis has begun the next set of words, there are armored feet in his view of field, and cold metal brushes against the back of his neck as the Draconian touches him.

 

“Yes,” Bahamut tells him fondly, and the smell of  _ wounded Omega  _ rolls through the Citadel, grabbing their Ruts and hauling them all to the forefront of their mind. “Now you have the right idea, Child of Lucis.”

 

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


The week they spend at Galdin Quay is like a daydream come true. Noctis has never been able to completely forget who he is, even when he’s off enjoying himself, but as soon as their feet touch sand all of that is gone. It doesn’t matter that Niflheim woke him from a Heat a week ago, that his dad’s been acting strangely protective the last few days, that Clarus and Cor have been oddly somber and just now both of their dads told them they were  _ proud  _ \- that it was enough to make Prompto go teary-eyed and Gladio suspiciously quiet in the back seat.

 

Galdin erases all that. Even Prompto’s completely forgotten about it, too busy gaping around, snapping photos of everything he can catch - the fish, the seagulls, the stands, the sunset. It’s all beautiful, and Noctis really does feel like a kid in a candy store now. Thankfully, he’s not the only one. Ignis is eying the fresh wares like a Zu eying his next meal, while Gladio’s alternating between flirting with the stall girls and buying things as he goes. 

 

Noctis can’t breathe because he’s so damn happy, but at the same time he can’t  _ stop  _ because he wants to absorb everything and treasure this memory for years, so he kind of just ends up in a feedback loop of over-stimulation even as Prompto runs up to him. “Dude!” he squeals in Noctis’ ear, grabbing his arm and shaking him.  _ “Dude!” _

 

“I know,” Noctis breaths, and he’s grinning now. His scent is probably drawing Alphas, but he doesn’t care. This is the best idea his dad has ever had, and when they get back to the Citadel he’s going to tell him so. He hadn’t realize until now just how much he needed this, needed to put down Prince Noctis and just be  _ Noctis  _ for a bit. 

 

Prompto laces their fingers together, eagerly dragging Noctis around to show him the sights. Ignis trails at a polite distance, while Gladio keeps the rear safe, smiling as he watches the two of them feed each other’s excitement. 

 

And then, as if things couldn’t get better, Noctis hears a familiar voice call out to him. “Noct? Is that you?”

 

“Navyth?” His head jerks up, eyes going wide as the older angler waves at him from the outskirts of a crowd of other anglers. “Holy shit, it really is you!”

 

“And look at you! Guys, this is the boy I was just telling you about - Noct Gar. Noct, these are the guys I usually wind up fishing with in the team competitions.”

 

“Nice to meet you all,” Noctis says, smiling at them. They’re staring at him in disbelief.

 

“Navyth,” someone says at last. “You do realize that’s Prince Noctis, right?”

 

“What?” Navyth turns to look at them. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hadrius. Noct’s the farthest thing from a Prince - although he’s certainly a master of fishing. Did I tell you he caught the Regal Arapaima at the Vesperpool last year? You should have seen it--”

 

Noctis blushes, grinning as Navyth recounts the tale. He tries several times to make it sound like nothing, but Navyth won’t let him. Nevermind that they’d been at the Vesperpool because they’d gotten lost in the fog that morning, and by the time they’d realized where they’d been, it had been too late. Still, even Ignis will admit Noctis meeting Navyth was one of the best things that could have happened, and has happened.

 

“Well, if he’s the real deal,” Hadrius says, still skeptical, “Then he should have no problem catching the Nightmare.”

 

“What’s that?” Noctis asks, and perks up like a hound on a scent.

 

“A Murk Grouper someone let into the fishing area as a joke,” Navyth explains. “Unfortunately, it turned out to be a predator species for most of the fish in the area, and it’s gotten  _ enormous  _ as a result. We call it the Angler’s Nightmare because nobody’s been able to catch the damn thing since it was dropped. Sometimes a rookie gets lucky and attracts it, but their line usually snaps before it gets anywhere near close. Still, it’d be good if we could get it out of the water - and whoever catches it would be someone worth paying attention to.” He nudges Noctis’ shoulder with his own, noting the gleam of competition in his. “So? Sound like your kind of fish, Gar?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Noctis says, and when he bares his teeth there’s no mistaking the gauntlet being thrown. “I’m gonna reel in a monster.”

 

“Best get ready then,” Navyth says. “The competition starts in twenty minutes. Find yourself a spot and start reeling. And hey, don’t beat yourself up if you  _ don’t  _ catch it. I’ve tried for years, hell I’m  _ still  _ trying. You’ll just be another disappointed fisherman.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Noctis says, which Gladio knows to mean  _ fuck that I’m catching that six-cursed fish if it kills me.  _ “I think you’ll be surprised by what I can do when I have it in my head.”

 

“Well, best of luck to you, then.” Navyth gives one last pat and leaves with the rest, each going to their starting spot and readying their lines. 

 

“So, are you actually going to do it?” Prompto asks. “Because I want photos. I need evidence of how big this thing is.”

 

“Something tells me Gladio’s going to end up hauling it out of the water like he did with the Regal Arapaima,” Ignis chuckles. “But it would be a nice prize to take home and show your father. Even if only in photo version.”

 

“Hell yeah it would,” Gladio agrees. “Proof that if nothing else, his son knows how to catch himself a meal.”

 

“He’s known that for forever,” Noctis says, prowling the beach and eyeing the shoreline. There’s quite a bit of distance between him and other anglers, and he nods. “Yeah, right here.” He plops himself down, and summons his rod to hand. “We’ll start nice and small. Don’t want to seem  _ too  _ competant.”

 

Ignis snorts. “Indeed. Must keep ourselves humble.”

 

“Like his head isn’t going to wind up twice as swollen because of this,” Gladio mutters, but agreeable goes to get their camping chairs and the cooler.

 

“At least it’s beautiful out,” Prompto says, following to help. “Good weather, no chance of storms.”

 

“You really think High Highness is going to give up just because a little storm rolls in anyhow?” Gladio asks, chairs tucked beneath his arm, leaving Prompto to heft the cooler out as he closes the trunk. “He’ll sit there to spite Leviathan herself.”

 

Prompto laughs. “Yeah, he would.”

 

“Wonder if we shouldn’t leave a tribute out for Her Royal Saltiness just in case.”

 

“Doesn’t that usually just involve a glass of water and a prayer?”

 

“Are  _ you  _ going to sit with Noctis on the ride home when he doesn’t catch this fish?”

 

“...Glass of water and a prayer to Tidemother it is.”

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

The first day of the competition ends with no winners - everyone brings in fish of similar size and weight, and in the end it results in a deadlock between contestants. 

 

“Not the first time that’s happened,” Navyth confesses as they all eat in the dining room of the Quay later that night. “It usually breaks by the second or third day. At most, they’ll extend it out until someone brings in one that weighs more than everyone else. Usually by the third day though everyone is gearing up to head home, so it doesn’t last longer than five days.”

 

The second day however, Noctis finally catches sight of the Nightmare in question. He’s hauling in what feels like a Trevally when something shifts on the right side of the water, and when he turns his head it’s just in time to see a  _ massive shadow  _ disappear into the depths. He finishes reeling in the Trevally, and licks his lips as he changes his lure. It’s clearly a sinker - Groupers usually are - so he throws an Abyss Worm on the line and casts out where he last saw it disappear.

 

And then the waiting game begins. He’s on his feet now, under the excuse of stopping his back from hunching, but Gladio and the others know his fishing habits well enough by now to start paying attention. They fall quiet behind him, all jokes and gently backseat fishing set aside as Noctis breaths in and out and gently tugs the worm here and there. He can feel the fish following - interested, but not quite interested enough to bite. Not yet.

 

So he ups the speed a little. Not quite enough to qualify as ‘escaping meal’, but more like ‘meal spotting a meal’. The shadow continues to follow. 

 

He pauses, and then keeps moving. And then stops.

 

This time, the Grouper  _ bites. _

 

It yanks Noctis forward a good four inches as it does, and behind him Gladio curses loud enough to draw attention as Noctis starts reeling - he has at most a handful of seconds before the fight starts, and he can already tell by the weight of this fish it’s going to be a  _ long fight,  _ just like the Regal was. 

 

Navyth’s close enough to see the shadow when it rises up, and his eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open as he forgets his own fish in favor of watching the fight. Noctis grits his teeth, digs in his heels and starts chanting  _ patience, there’s only 2000 yards of line between you and this fish  _ **_it has to last._ **

 

“Holy shit,” Prompto whispers, finally getting a good look at the size of the Grouper. “ _ Holy shit, dude.” _

 

“Yeah,” Noctis manages to hiss out as the fish begins to fight in earnest, the rod practically yanked from his hand with every movement. “I know.”

 

He loses track of time then, because he focuses on the fish and nothing but the fish, using the movements in the water to pace his breathing - in when the fish fights, out when the fish stops. And every time the fight feels far too long, his hands too steady on the reel, compared to the shore duration he has to reel the thing in. It’s heavy, and slow, and every second feels like an hour.

 

“Holy shit,” he distantly hears someone say. “Is that--”

 

“Shush!” Navyth hisses. “Don’t break his concentration!”

 

He’s so careful with the fish, struggling not to give in to temptation and reel against the fight like he would with smaller ones that he  _ knows  _ he can haul in fast enough to avoid the line snapping. This beast doesn’t gain distance, but Noctis does, and when he dares glance down at his line meter, he’s relieved to see it’s only managed to whittle him down a couple hundred feet. He’s still okay. 

 

He doesn’t realize he’s gathered a crowd until he glances at his meter again, and winces at the  _ 1500\.  _ The fish is still so far out - not even halfway to him yet. He’s not doing bad, but he could do better. He looks back to the water, grits his teeth, and forces himself to be more patient. The line drops to  _ 1400,  _ but the fish is dragged to the half-way point, and behind him Gladio whispers, “Almost there, Noct. You’ve got this.”

 

He thinks so too, right up until the thing fucking  _ jumps,  _ and Noctis nearly gets dragged into the water. Gladio grabs him in time, hauling him back as the fish tries to descend, and Noctis vows half a dozen painful deaths against this particular Grouper. But he loses another 200 yards of line, and his temper is rapidly fraying. This is no longer a fish he can let go, but an enemy to be destroyed.

 

He drags the fish back another quarter of the way, and  now everyone can see just how truly massive it is. He hears quick mutterings to Tidemother, and half a dozen similar prayers offered, and he especially hears Navyth’s quick  _ “C’mon boy, haul that bastard in.” _

 

His line is down to 900, and rapidly dwindling as the times between the fight and the rest vanish. This fish means to wear him down, and it’s smart enough to do it. He has to be quick now, not patient. So he taps out a counter-beat to the fight, reeling and then not reeling, and inch by inch the fish begins to give. So too does the line. It’s a race.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Gladio mutters, and Noctis back up four steps, realizing  _ he can now,  _ and the fish is close enough to allow him to do so. It’s still flailing, and he reels as he walks, every heartbeat filled with nerves. Close, closer, closer still. 

 

200 yards of line. The fish is almost on the shore now. The Grouper’s fighting it every step, flailing and jumping and trying to wear him down.

 

100 yards. 

 

50.

 

20.

 

10.

 

Noctis goes for it.

 

_ 1. _

 

A single yard of line remains, but he’s done it. The Grouper flops on the shore, massive and ugly and  _ caught at last.  _ Noctis’ legs drop out from under him, his strength spent as Gladio and Ignis rush forward to haul the catch forward, and Prompto alternates between babbling at Noctis and babbling at the fish.

 

“ **_YES!”_ ** Navyth roars, pride etched onto his face, and that breaks the spell on the rest of the anglers who have gathered around to watch the fight. “I told you! I told you he could do it! I told you and  _ he’s done it!” _

 

“Mother of the Six,” Hadrius swears, pale in the face and eyes wide. “He actually did it.”

 

“Pretty sure this thing’s as long as Prom is,” Gladio grunts as he hauls it further up. It’s flopping has subsided now as it gasps at air. “Prom, lay down and let’s see.”

 

“Holy shit,” Noctis manages when Prompto lays down. “It’s  _ longer  _ than him.”

 

Prompto rolls away, sand on his hair and clothes, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Ignis is taller than me!”

 

Ignis lays down, and the length matches perfectly. “Dude,” Prompto grins at Noctis, manic and wild. “You caught  _ Ignis.” _

 

Noctis laughs, too tired and still shaking with the leftover nerves of actually fighting that stupid fish to care if it offends Ignis. “Now I’ve done it twice.”

 

“Aww,” Prompto offers, and snaps a photo of him, sand-encrusted, exhausted, but oh so proud of himself. “Your dad is going to have a fit when he sees what his baby boy has been up to on his vacation.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, closing his eyes and flopping back against the sand. He needs a nap. “He tends to do that.”

 

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


“Your son is going to have a fit when he sees what his kingly father has been up to on his vacation.”

 

Regis chuckles humorlessly, closing his eyes as he leans against the rubble that was once their home. “Yes, I am well aware, Clarus.”

 

Cor’s finishing bandaging Clarus’ broken knee with all the consideration of a man who has done this far too many times before, and straightens, wiping his brow. They’re all filthy, coated in dust and blood that both is and is not their own, no longer a King and his men but a group of well-trained fighters struggling against the machines Niflheim has sent.

 

Bahamut’s blessing has given them the strength of a blood-frenzied pack protecting a wounded Omega, and even now, hours after the events at the Crystal, they can all still smell Noctis in the air, like he’s here in the Citadel, stumbling around wounded despite the fact that he isn’t.

 

“Something tells me he’s going to be more upset about the fact that he triggered all of our Ruts to synch up instead of us getting into a pseudo-war with Niflheim,” Cor says, grabbing another set of bandages for himself, wrapping the gaping wound he has on his shoulder. “He’s going to think he took advantage of us, or something.”

 

“How do you figure?” Clarus asks. 

 

Cor rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason Noctis only ever flares his scent when he’s pushed past the point where a normal Omega would have. He doesn’t like asserting his will on others, especially given most Omegas don’t.”

 

“Well we should be grateful he can, else we would be having a much different conversation right now,” Clarus says. 

 

“You mean we would be having our  _ last  _ conversation instead of a continued one. Anyone got eyes on Titus yet?”

 

“Last I saw him, he was heading towards the central plaza to back up the Glaives. Seems the bastards built some big nasty called the Diamond Weapon. Somnus and the other Kings went to aid them.”

 

Clarus makes an interested noise. “The spirits willingly gave aid?”

 

“Yes well, it seems today is a day for those sorts of miracles.” Bahamut giving his blessing was rare enough - but for the spirits of the Old Kings and Queens of Lucis to emerge to fight in defense of Insomnia was practically unheard of. Then again, there wasn’t much mundanity in this fight - Niflheim had evidently heard their refusal to bow at the last meeting, and sent everything short of the kitchen sink in their direction. Most of the city had been left untouched, and the Crystal was still safe, kept so by Bahamut’s hatred of invaders. 

 

Out in the distance, Regis can see the crimson glow of airships coming towards them. Sighing, he pushes to his feet, using his sword to steady himself. At some point he lost the leg brace, as it twisted and bent under one of the machine’s attempts to kill him. So now it’s mostly his rage and Rut keeping him on his feet, and Clarus or Cor when they have a moment to rest.

 

A piercing whistle calls out through the night, and Regis shifts. “They come,” he calls, and Clarus takes in a deep breath, readying his blade again. Now they can hear the metal clang of soldiers coming towards them, and the distant call of Glaives. He can also hear Titus’ voice, commanding, calling out to them through the madness.

 

_ For hearth and home,  _ Regis reminds himself as the first soldier enters the room, and the world blurs as he warps.  _ For Noctis. _


	2. Chapter 2

The fishing competition ends a day after that; Noctis having bowed out despite Navyth begging otherwise, citing an unfairness to the other anglers to find a fish nearly as big as the Nightmare. Hadrius mumbles something about it being unfair no matter what happens, but the judges agree with Noctis on the matter, and so he and the others go back to their hotel room to wait while the anglers fish on. 

 

It’s midday before a decisive win finally happens, with Navyth hauling in the prize catch, and Hadrius shortly behind. They’re both Groupers like his own, though much smaller in size compared to the beast sitting in the cooler in the back of the Regalia. Several of their strongest Ice spells will ensure the fish keeps until they can get back home to show it off - pictures don’t do it justice, even if they’re the fantastic quality ones Prompto’s got on his camera. It helps that the Grouper is edible, which if Noctis is being honest, is the entire idea being bringing the catch home. If it were just to show off the size and for beauty, he would have been content with the pictures. 

 

But it’s thanks to his dad he’s out here, relaxing and having a good time. The least Noctis can do is haul his catch home to make dinner out of. And his dad hasn’t had fish in  _ forever.  _ At least fish like this. He can already tell by the weight and size, cooked right with Ignis’ signature spices, it’s going to make a fantastic meal.

 

“Can we make jerky out of fish?” Prompto muses, when they’re back in their hotel room, watching the sunset from the windows.. “Y’know, for later?”

 

“We could,” Ignis says. “Once we’re home at the Citadel, I’ll show you the process for curing it, so you’ll know in case you’re ever by yourself and in need of stock for later.”

 

“Cool, thanks!”

 

“Groupers tend to have a very tough consistency out of most fish, and a rather intense, oily taste. Putting it in the form of jerky will harden the meat, make it more of a chewing type than a simple ‘pop it in your mouth and go’ type.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Gladio grins. “Something for his Highness to gnaw on while he fishes up our next meal.”

 

“And then of course, we could add various spices to differ the flavor...”

 

“Think we’ll have enough to do like, a bag of everything?” Prompto asks eagerly, leaning forward a bit.

 

Ignis smiles. “Not quite, I’m afraid. Though if we ever do go on a fishing spree, we certainly could.”

 

“You hear that Noct? Hashtag fishing goals!”

 

Noctis waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah.” 

 

He’s laying on the bed, half-dozing as he listens to his friends’ chatter in the background. He’s full of good food, in good company, feeling safe and content. 

 

Prompto comes to flop down on the bed beside him, arms splayed out. “So, now that the competition’s over, should we pack it up and head back?”

 

Noctis hums, cracking one eye open. “Probably within the next couple of days, yeah. Dad  _ did  _ send us on vacation - and I might be good, but you guys have barely relaxed.” Then again for him, any available moment he has to forget about his status is a vacation. Where he can pretend he’s just a normal guy trying to make himself a future instead of the Prince of Lucis. Ignis, Prompto and Gladio have more freedom than him in that regard, so escapism by anonymity doesn’t really do it.

 

“Well then in that case, I should wake you up for training tomorrow morning,” Gladio jokes, coming over to poke Noctis in the ribs. “A nice run on the beach. Doesn’t that sound  _ relaxing?” _

 

“No, it sounds horrible.”

 

“Well what about helping me cook breakfast then?” Ignis teases, joining their impromptu game. “Far easier than Gladio, no true exercise needed - we could start out with a quick jaunt about to gather ingredients, and then return to start the actual cooking. The sunrise is quite beautiful that early, and you’d have the quiet all to yourself.”

 

“Hmm, no, too much effort still.” He’s trying to push down a smile, and make his voice as bored and uninterested as those other stuffy nobles he hears from all the time. “What else you got?”

 

“Pictures with me, then,” Prompto says, grinning and struggling not to laugh. “We’ll take a nice walk around the beach--”

 

“Hmmm, no, still too much work. Talk to me when I can be carried to my location and we’ll see what I can pencil in.”

 

“Oho, you hear that? His Royal Grumpiness wishes to be  _ carried  _ everywhere, Iggy.”

 

“Oh yes, I do believe we’ve a spare chaise lounge in the Regalia.”

 

“We each taking a corner?”

 

Gladio snorts. “Sure, right up until we hit water. If our hands get ‘sweaty’ and we drop him, well, it’s not our fault.”

 

“Plotting to throw your king into the water? That’s treason,” Noctis says, but he’s laughing now. They all are, probably because they know Noctis has abhorred the nobility that act like he’s pretending to act now. 

 

“Aww but dude, don’t you  _ like  _ swimming?”

 

“Could ask you the same thing, Prom.”

 

“I say we throw ‘em  _ both  _ in,” Gladio pretend-whispers to Ignis.

 

“Wow, really not feeling the love now, guys,” Prompto whines, and then gulps when three sets of amused gazes land on him. “Wait, no--”

 

He yelps as he’s pushed onto Noctis, and Gladio and Ignis dogpile on top of him. They’re all laughing as they shamelessly scent each other, listening to Prompt’s squeals when Gladio runs his stubble across the back of his neck. “Aww, but blondie, I thought you said you weren’t feeling the love!”

 

“Traitors!” Prompto yells, and reaches out for the edge of the bed, only to be mercilessly dragged back. 

 

“No, no escape for you now,” Ignis grins. “Come take your loving like a man.”

 

“I hate you all so much!”

 

“No you don’t,” Noctis says, cheeks hurting from how long he’s been grinning. “You couldn’t even if you tried.”

 

Prompto just sticks his tongue out at him, but doesn’t deny it. Years ago, he never would have thought he would be here like this, part of the Prince’s royal retinue, wrestling around on a bed and joking around with men he’d die to see keep breathing. Hell, he never would have dreamed he would get this far - Crownsguard training beneath his belt, welcomed by Cor Leonis into a family that seemed so high above everyone else, friends with people that seem to glitter like stars against the backdrop of everywhere else.

 

But as the teasing subsides and turns more into a cuddle pile, he can’t find a hint of regret about what his life has become. That for all the troubles they get into, all the assassination attempts and scares and threats, he knows they have moments like these to balance it out. Quiet moments, joyous moments. He hopes they have many more for a great many years yet.

 

They do end up taking a nap together, the bedding mussed enough around them to qualify as a nest, everyone pressed together tight on a bed meant to fit two at the most, three in a pinch. Certainly not three bodies on top of someone of Gladio’s size, but they make it work. And even squished between Noctis and Ignis like he is, Prompto has never felt happier. 

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

That happiness doesn’t last past dawn. 

 

Dawn sees them paying off Galdin’s hotel stay, packing up their bags like they’re on the run, and sprinting for the Regalia. It sees the atmosphere from the prior night utterly gone, and the quasi-familiar sensation of running towards a battlefield setting up in its place. Prompto has checked and re-checked his guns, and even as Ignis speeds for the limits of Insomnia the blades on his hips glint in the low light, a reassurance.

 

Noctis and Gladio are both stone cold and silent, watching out the sides of the vehicle, watching the  _ skies.  _ The reason for their alarm sits at Prompto’s feet, the headline saying it all for once -  **_War On Insomnia._ **

 

The pictures are gruesome, but the words are what captivates them all now. Word that King Regis and his Kingsglaive and Crownsguard are holding back Niflheim’s war machines - but perhaps most telling is the phrase  _ “Just hours after Crown Prince Noctis was seen leaving Insomnia, word had reached us that Niflheim was on the borders of Insomnia.” _

 

Hours.  _ Mere hours.  _ They had known - and now it made sense. Why the adults had seemed so somber, why Cor had pressed a new gun into Prompto’s hand and told him  _ “Protect him, always.”  _ Why the elder Amicitia had given Gladiolus a uniform meant to represent the status of a  _ Shield,  _ not merely an heir. They had thought it a gift at the time, that this would be a kind of last hurray before they returned to more training, different training to get them all set up in their roles.

 

They hadn’t known the adults were saying their goodbyes. That they had known somehow that Niflheim wouldn’t remain patient forever, that the proposed treaty was a load of bullshit. That’s what stings about all of this the most, if Prompto’s honest with himself. If that’s for all the words about training them into being Noctis’ guards and protectors, they weren’t entrusted with the knowledge of the to-be war. Instead like children they were pushed into a vacation that was an excuse to get them away from the fighting, and now their fathers stand on the steps of Insomnia fighting for their lives.

 

Noctis makes a noise, and Prompto’s attention jerks up. His eyes widen. There, in the sky circling Insomnia, engines glowing red--

 

“Magitek,” Ignis hisses, hand tightening on the wheel.

 

“They’ve brought in the whole army,” Gladio rumbles. “They really do mean to kill us.”

 

“Too fucking bad,” Noctis snaps, and they all smell it - the scent of an Omega enraged, the fury of a protector scorned. “We’re not going down. Get us as close as you can, Ignis. We’re leaving the car.”

 

He doesn’t say that the gates will likely be guarded, the streets thick with walking weapons. He doesn’t have to. Prompto knows what war looks like - how messy and chaotic it can get. Once they’re at the gates, they have to assume there’s nothing but enemies all the way up to the Citadel proper, and even then it won’t likely be the end. If anything, it’ll only get harder, because the Citadel is where they’re all aiming for.

 

Niflheim wants the Crystal, wants the Caelum line gone and the power in the hands of the Emperor. They’re not getting it, though.

 

“Here,” Ignis says, and pulls the car over without fanfare, parking it. Ahead of them, the gates of Insomnia are being guarded by an unknown amount of weaponry - they’ve even got the giant ‘bots out patrolling. 

 

Noctis’ lips curl up into a snarl, lightning crackling down his arms as he summons his Engine Blade to hand.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Prompto quietly calls his guns into place, finding their weight comforting as they walk forward. 

 

_ No going back,  _ he tells himself, and thinks of Cor the first and last time he saw him.  _ Protect your Prince. _

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

“Regis!”

 

Someone is shouting at him. Regis can’t see who, too thick in the mixture of dead and still-living bodies to pay attention. His sword cuts again, one-two, and more go down. Always more. 

 

“Regis, it's the kids!” That’s Drautos, now he recognizes the voice. “Ulric says they’ve torn the gates down! They’re on their way!”

 

Fuck. They’d all known of course the papers would cover the news of Niflheim’s invasion, but so soon? They’d been hoping for more time, a chance to at least drive Aldercapt’s forces back. It barely feels like they’ve made a dent.

 

“I don’t suppose,” he calls back as he cuts down more fake soldiers, “That Ulric was able to see Noctis’ expression?” He knows if it were him, if he came home after being ushered off to a vacation by his son, he’d be beyond furious. Livid. Ready to wage war against the Astrals themselves if that’s what it took.

 

Titus’ grim silence says it all, and he winces. Yeah, he fully expects his son will deliver one hell of an ass-chewing once Niflheim clears out. Hopefully by that time he can muster some form of defence for himself.

 

...Oh who is he kidding? All Noctis has to do is look at him and he’s doomed.

 

He finds himself back-to-back with Titus before long, the older man looking heavily scuffed up, a paleness around his eyes that speaks of straining magic. Regis smashes an ether against his arm, and some of the whiteness fades. “Do we have the forces to guard them until they’re able to reach us?” Might as well treat them as additional soldiers, since they’re so set on saving a bunch of old men. 

 

Titus shakes his head. “From the way Ulric told it, they don’t need it. Noctis isn’t feral, but the way they’re mowing down anything that gets in their way, he might as well be.” He pauses, catching his breath between targets. “There’s a storm coming behind them that wasn’t there last night.”

 

“You think--”

 

“I think there’s more than one Astral offering up a blessing,” Titus says. “Noctis always did seem to adore storms. Why shouldn’t we assume the Fulgurian doesn’t return the sentiment?”

 

Regis shakes his head. “We shouldn’t. After all the things that have happened so far, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“And there are legends that claim the Six fought with your kin, long ago,” a new voice interrupts, and Clarus shoulders his way into their circle, his sword sweeping all who get caught in it aside. “If the Draconian’s blessing is any indication, they’re about as fond of Niflheim as we are.”

 

“Perhaps they just don’t like assholes who don’t take ‘no’ at face value,” Titus jokes. “I certainly don’t.”

 

“Yes well, you also deal with those assholes a lot more,” Regis says. “The Six deal with Prophecy and Fate.”

 

“See? So assholes then.”

 

Clarus snorts, and drops his sword as the last of the living bodies go down. It will be a bit before more are sent - with the kids marching through the streets, Niflheim will have two targets to aim for, and it will be forced to divert forces from the Citadel to deal with Noctis and his team. Hard as it is, his son’s arrival is a blessing all its own. 

 

Cor reappears a few moments later, looking pale and swaying ominously on his feet. Titus and Clarus catch him before he falls over, helping him slide down as Titus pushes buttons and zippers aside to get at a gaping wound on his right side. His knee is bent at at odd angle, and his right foot is swollen. Regis keeps watch as his two commanders heal the third, and so he’s the only one to stop the streak of blue in the far distance, followed by a massive explosion as one of the smaller Magitek engines goes down. The blue streak hits two more, and both of those fall as well.

 

“Is that Noctis?” Cor calls.

 

“Yes,” Regis answers. “That would be my son wrecking hell on the battlefield.”

 

There’s a fourth explosion as another engine collapses, but there’s no blue streak to accompany it - but Regis sees the fast trail of red right before the engine goes.

 

“And that,” he says, dry as dust, “Would be  _ your  _ son, putting that Astrals-cursed solstice present of a  _ grenade launcher  _ to good use.”

 

“That’s my boy,” Cor says, pumping a fist in the air right before he leans back against the wall, Clarus growling at him to  _ sit still, damn it  _ as he does. Pain has clearly made Cor a little loose-lipped about his pride concerning Prompto, which is the only reason Regis doesn’t immediately drop everything to tease him about this development. 

 

If nothing else, if they manage to survive this he can always drop a few rumors into the right ears. Cor the Immortal having an heir to his legacy might just be enough to stop people questioning Noctis’ choices regarding the third member of his guard.

 

“Here comes the next wave,” he calls out. “Cor, can you fight?”

 

Clarus smashes a bottle of Hi-Elixir over his head. “Now he can!” he calls back, and together he and Titus haul Cor to his feet. “C’mon brat, don’t give out on us now. What happened to all that temperamental brattiness that I used to have to drag out of fights back in the day?”

 

“He got older and realized blindly charging at the enemy isn’t particularly smart,” Cor says, shaking his head and blinking sharply a couple times. “Trust me, some of those lessons you used to lecture me on  _ did  _ stick.”

 

“Good to know.” Clarus slaps him on the back, and calls his sword back to hand. “C’mon then. One last round before the boys show up. Gotta make ourselves look competent.”

 

“Of course,” Cor drawls. “Can’t have those sons of yours sticking you in an old folks’ home yet.”

 

Clarus bares his teeth at him like he used to do back when Cor got mouthy in their younger days. “Yeah? Well you’d be right there with us.”

 

“Prompto would never betray me.”

 

“Who said anything about Prompto?”

 

Cor opens his mouth and then shuts it again, a flush rising to his cheeks as he realizes the trap he’s just walked into. “Not. One. Word.”

 

Clarus just laughs the laugh of man who has plans up his sleeves, and refuses to be stopped. “Whatever you say, Cor.”

 

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


It takes them less time than any of them expect to reach the Citadel. It probably helps that they’ve never stopped sprinting even as they fought through the numbers of soldiers on the streets. They’re all covered in blood, sweat and various other unknown fluids, but they’re still going remarkably strong as they finally reach the plaza before the Citadel. The magitek engines are pulling in for another drop - Noctis doesn’t give them the opportunity, and neither does Prompto. Gladio and Ignis wipe out what hits ground and doesn’t die or get evaporated by the explosion

 

That done, they make for the Citadel proper, charging in through the open front doors.

 

“Meeting room, ground floor,” Noctis gasps, taking a sharp left and barreling down the hallways. It’s empty in here save the bodies of MTs and a few Crownsguard - which he’ll process later, that some of the men and women he knows are there, cold on the ground. “The paper mentioned a treaty signing--”

 

He has to duck a second later, as Clarus’ giant greatsword cleaves the air right where he’d been standing. “It’s me! Friendly, friendly!”

 

“Noctis?!”

 

Regis’ head snaps from where he’s facing down another grouping of MTs. Noctis doesn’t even blink, ducking past Clarus and warping as one of the infantry swings their weapon around, aiming for Regis’ face.

 

“Looks like they’re actually putting out human soldiers now,” Ignis informs him when they’re all down, and Noctis is being helped back by Regis. “With any luck, that means we’re close to wiping out their supplies.”

 

“Doubt it,” Gladio disagrees. “There’s always more bodies to be made. However they’re making ‘em.”

 

“Daemons,” Cor says. “Daemon blood and human bodies. It’s not pretty.”

 

“Fuck,” Noctis says, which pretty much encapsulates what everyone’s thinking at that moment. He looks over at Regis. “What’s the plan?”

 

“Hold the line,” Regis says. “The Draconian gave his blessing, and Niflheim’s larger threats have already been dealt with from a combination of aid by the spirits of the Ring and the Draconian’s blessing. We have to keep the Crystal safe.”

 

“And our home,” Noctis says, steel entering his gaze. “Got it.”

 

It probably says a lot of all of them that nobody offers up the suggestion of fleeing. That the only choice given is to stay here, and face down Niflheim’s soldiers with the Kingsglaive and Crownsguards, until one side withers and retreats.

 

“They come!” Ignis calls, and in the distance Noctis can hear the sound of Magitek engines. He snarls, and around him the scent of  _ alpha-beta-omega  _ swim and blur to become the scent of  _ family under threat. _

 

He loses time here, as the very air grows thick with electricity, a faint purplish glow taking over the world, thick black storm clouds rising up overhead to take over the sky.

 

“ _ Noct!”  _ Someone yells, as he doubles over, his head  _ throbbing  _ with sudden agony. When he opens his eyes again, he’s in a gigantic hand a thousand feet in the air alongside everyone else, and Ramuh is staring down at the battlefield with something like regal disdain. 

 

“Holy shit!” Prompto squeaks, clinging to Gladio, who in turn is clinging to his own father. Titus and Cor have both gone pale, and even Ignis looks a bit shaken. Only Noctis and Regis remain relatively unaffected, jaws tight as Ramuh hefts his staff to bring his thunder to bear against the Empire. 

 

The ground where the staff strikes erupts into a world of black and gold, as everything beneath winds up charred, and the sparks kick up to drift on the wind, bolts leaving massive mars in the ground. Ramuh deposits them back onto the ground, and Noctis hears the faintest whisper of  _ something  _ as the giant fades, the black clouds vanishing alongside him.

 

**_Live long, o king of kings._ **

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

  
  


Today has been so very  _ interesting,  _ Ardyn thinks. He’d come to Insomnia thinking he’d be facing a brat and a boy-king, but such things he has not found. Instead, there is a King to rival himself sitting on the throne, and a Prince That Was Promised beside him. Just the thought of facing little Noctis on the battlefield makes him shiver. 

 

The boy’s people might like to look down their nose at Omegas, but how easily they forget the creatures of fury that once roamed, looking for Alphas and Betas to enslave. Alphas were once considered  _ fine breeding stock,  _ and Betas warriors meant to be brought under the sway of a powerful Omega. It’s heartening to see that some of that wild nature still runs in the clans of Lucis Caelum, even if it's only the latest two generations. Mors was certainly never like that.

 

Mors certainly wouldn’t have had the spine to appeal his fate before the Draconian, wouldn’t have been judged  _ worthy  _ to live beyond what was needed. He would not have brought the Fulgurian out of hiding by fury alone, would not have received a blessing and Covenant all wrapped into one by Ramuh. But Noctis and Regis have done those things, and for that, Ardyn gives them a tip of his hat. They have fought down the legions Niflheim has sent, and in turn Ardyn has made each wave weaker, smaller in number, delayed some ships and offset others.

 

Now he calls out to the remainder, “It’s looking rather like a wash, ladies and gents. I think it’s time we all went home.”

 

The Emperor is not pleased. But he never is - and perhaps Ardyn did that a little too well, grinding down Iedolas Aldercapt until he was nothing but a vessel of greed. He desires the Crystal, and very little else. Ardyn only wanted an easy way into Insomnia, a way to break Noctis down and make him a King worth facing. But as it turns out, he might not need to, for the child is already splendid in war, ready to face anything to keep his people safe from the night.

 

Ardyn can’t wait to face him. And ten years is nothing in comparison to the two thousand he’s already spent suffering. He’s sure they’ll go quick. 

 

“Ardyn,” Iedolas whispers. “The Crystal... _ my  _ Crystal…”

 

“Hush now. We have time yet to receive it. Patience, my good Emperor.  _ Patience.”  _ He pushes a little more Scourge into the man, willing the darkness down to slumber. The old man’s eyes flicker and then shut, seemingly falling asleep where he sits. The guards do not blink at this, for Emperor Iedolas is often tired these days, and his beloved Chancellor there to soothe him to sleep always.

 

The ships turn and make for home, and Ardyn offers one last tip of the hat to the Citadel. The next peace talks they share between Niflheim and Insomnia should be interesting, if nothing else. By which he means Niflheim will likely be charged and dragged before the peoples of the world for failure to uphold their end of a bargain long promising to offer peace between the two powers. If Ardyn’s plans come to fruition by that point, he won’t be around to see the chaos left behind in his wake - his Prince will have already planted a sword between his ribs and laid him to rest.

 

Would that Somnus could see him now, acting like a lovestruck fool waiting for the proverbial white horse. But he can’t help it - to know that his future is  _ finally here,  _ and able to give him the death he desires… it’s such a heady feeling. So easy to be swept away in it.

 

Perhaps he should offer bride-price on the lovely Prince the next time they meet, and see if he can’t get that delightful temper roused again. It wouldn’t do to have his Prince lose all that lovely temper at the last moment, or falter over taking a man’s life. No, he’ll have to keep the attention locked tight until the hilt of the sword meets his chest, and he returns to ash and memory once more.

 

Soon. Ten years, at most. Practically a month. And in the meantime he’ll keep stirring up the Empire, destabilizing it and casting his nets to the furthest corners to inflict more damage. There’s nothing like a good hunt to rouse the blood, after all, and a little chase to tease before the finale  _ always  _ makes things interesting.

 

Oh yes. He’s looking forward to these next few years.

  
  


**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

 

Rebuilding efforts begin as soon as it becomes apparent Niflheim isn’t planning on coming back immediately. The amount of relief Noctis feels is surpassed only by the sheer amount of  _ fury  _ in his gut over his dad failing to tell him anything; they end up having a screaming argument the likes of which the Citadel definitely isn’t prepared for, and it ends with both himself and Regis in tears, being ushered off into two seperate spots of the Citadel by their Shields. 

 

Cor and Titus wind up flat on their backs in the infirmary; in all the chaos they’d pushed their bodies far past their limits, their magic channels heavily burnt out and needing at least a month each to quietly knit back together before they would even be considered for light duty. Titus is perfectly fine with this development, content to catch up on all the paperwork he’s been missing, but Cor is less open to the idea. They wind up having to drug him into unconsciousness, and Monica remains at his side giving him updates when he isn’t asleep. 

 

At some point, Regis finds him in the gardens, tucked in one of the little get-away alcoves built by his forefathers to help give them pretend breathing space, and quietly delivers an apology that has them both crying again. This time when Clarus and Gladio usher them away, both Amicitia have an exasperated smile on their faces. 

 

“You don’t do things by halves, neither one of you,” Gladio says as he tucks Noctis into bed like he’s a kid again, all big brother fondness and warmth. He ruffles Noctis’ hair. “Get some rest, Princess. You’ll be needed in the morning.”

 

One development that winds up being something of a surprise - at least for Noctis - is Cor’s relationship with Prompto takes a sharpish left turn and winds up somewhere entirely unknown. 

 

“Where’s Prompto?” Cor demands, sitting upright in bed like he wasn’t asleep just seconds before. Noctis nearly falls off his chair, only Ignis’ quick hand saving him from meeting the floor. 

 

Regis’ eyebrows lift, and his mouth gains a sly little curl that he quickly hides when Cor looks right at him. “Here at the Citadel. He’s fine, Cor. A little scuffed up, but he’s perfectly--”

 

“Bring him to me. I need to see him, Regis. I need--” He blinks a couple times, still under the effects of whatever drugs they gave him to take the edge off. “I  _ need  _ him.”

 

Regis nods sagely. “Of course, my friend. Gladiolus, would you--?”

 

“Sure.” Gladio looks like he’s fighting entirely too hard not to grin, and if Noctis looks at Clarus, he can see beneath the stony facade there’s a twitch in his cheek. He glances over at Ignis, but the older man just shrugs. 

 

Prompto all but dashes into the room, skidding across the lineoleum floor, wide-eyed and vaguely harried looking. “Sir?” he asks, breathless. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Here, Prompto, come  _ here,”  _ Cor orders gruffly, and like a lightbulb going off Noctis  _ gets it.  _

 

“I think,” Regis says entirely too gently, “We’d best leave them in peace, hm?”

 

Once the doors are shut and they’re a safe distance away, Noctis rounds on his father. “Tell me I didn’t just see what I thought I saw.”

 

“Cor the Immortal hopped up on painkillers, professing something other than gruff acknowledgement for your young ward? Oh yes.” Regis’ smile is entirely gleeful. “I daresay rumors will  _ abound  _ in the coming days.”

 

“Now Regis,” Clarus says, trying to sound stern, but he’s grinning too. “I’m sure Cor being soft towards a young man he took under his wing and has been trying to convince everyone he doesn’t actually view as his son doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean we should inform the council he has an heir and so they need to stop pestering him about a replacement and his age when they show up again.”

 

Noctis wheezes a little, breathless with amazement. “Oh my god, he’s going to kill you.”

 

“That’s treason,” Regis informs him far too cheerfully. “Now, you must make sure Prompto looks presentable in the coming days. Also, bring him by the Citadel more often. I’m sure pictures of him and Cor won’t be leaked along with said rumors.”

 

“Not at all,” Clarus agrees. Noctis doesn’t believe it for a second.

 

“You two,” he decides. “Are evil. He’s going to hunt you down and kill you, treason or not. And then he’s going to hunt  _ me  _ down, and then probably go after Prompto for good measure.”

 

“He won’t go after Prom,” Gladio says. “But you? Yeah. Bet you wished you’d taken those jogging lessons with me now, huh?”

 

Cor doesn’t wind up going after either Noctis or Prompto, for all that Prompto emerges from the room wide-eyed and looking like he’s been struck by a stray Thunder bolt. “He  _ praised me,”  _ he whispers, face clasped in hands. “Cor the Immortal… said I did a good job! I mean, he gave me a bunch of really good tips too, about how I could do better next time, but I did a good job!  _ Noct I did a good job!” _

 

“Heard you the first time Prom,” and yeah maybe his friend’s happiness is infectious, because Noctis can’t stop grinning. 

 

But Cor  _ does  _ take issue with the rumors that start spreading - not quite up to the snuff that Regis was talking about. It quickly snowballs from ‘Cor has an heir’ to  _ ‘Cor’s son is part of the Prince’s retinue’,  _ and then, when someone manages to snap pictures of them together and someone else in the Citadel decides to leak some rather important documentation,  _ ‘Cor Leonis rescued Prompto Argentum from unlawful experimentation when he was a baby and adopted him as his own’.  _

 

Prompto reads the reports, eyes getting wider and wider as hell gets raised around them by Cor’s lawyers, who come for the blood and coin of the secret-seller like sharks scenting blood. Noctis, Ignis and Gladio circle Prompto for a few days, knowing the fallout that’s going to come in as soon as Cor stops making headlines. And sure enough, Cor’s lawyers have scarely finished up their meal when the papers start asking -  **_‘Is Prompto Argentum a spy for Niflheim?’_ **

 

The about-face Cor Leonis does is enough to terrify anyone, but when the Council demands a  _ court hearing  _ for Prompto, and Prompto goes, terrified and pale and looking every inch the young man he  _ is,  _ but still holding himself straight-backed and firm, nobody expects the doors to open and Cor Leonis, dressed in the uniform of the Kingsglaive, to march into the room, fire burning behind his eyes in a way that quickly silences the room.

 

The hearing, if it can really be called that, wraps up in thirty minutes. Cor stands by Prompto’s right elbow, hands behind his back, the perfect pose for a military man were it not for his eyes, and the silent threat sitting there that basically says  _ you will drag him from my side when I am dead and buried beneath no less than six feet of dirt _ . Prompto answers every question with bullet precision, and only unlocks himself when the court finds him to be a legal resident of Insomnia, and thus no longer under the jurisdiction of Niflheim. It probably helps in no small part due to Cor - who only has to speak once, but his words were weighty enough to make the room realize just  _ what  _ they were dealing with.

 

_ “He was nine months when I found him. The only living child still in that place.” _

 

Nine months doesn’t exactly scream ‘brainwashed by Niflheim’ to anyone, no matter how hard they try to spin it. And ‘only living child’ tells everyone what they wanted to know - Prompto Argentum was a victim and a survivor, not a threat. Cor Leonis didn’t pick him by chance - he picked him because he had a heart, and recognized that test tube child or not, Prompto deserved a better future.

 

The public certainly lap it up. Support for Prompto easily overcomes dissonance about his presence by Noctis’ side, and soon there’s a trending hashtag going around. Noctis has to bite down a laugh when he sees it, because otherwise Cor is going to skin him and eat his liver for lunch.

 

_ Tweet: Any1 see the live footage of the hearing, Leonis looks ready to THROW DOWN 4 his boy #PromptoLeonis _

 

Of course, as with anything in Insomnia, the buzz dies down after a while. Noctis never finds out what comes out of it between Cor and Prompto, because to him nothing seems to change. His dad and Clarus spend the next few weeks grinning whenever they spy Cor, though that may be less an indication of a development and more them remembering Cor’s suffering. 

 

Time moves on. Insomnia rebuilds, and people return. Life returns to some semblance of normality. His Heat comes again, and finds him in a nest in his room. No agony, just a gentle peace washing over him as he listens to his father’s old records, breathes in the scent of the candles, and banishes the thought of doing anything today.

 

There comes a soft knock on the door. Noctis raises his head.

 

“Apologies for the disturbance sir, but the delegation from Tenebrae have arrived. Shall I show Her Ladyship and her brother to the waiting chambers?”

 

Noctis grins, pushing himself up a little. Well, no. He isn’t quite doing  _ nothing  _ today. “Nah, bring ‘em in here. Luna knows me, and Ravus doesn’t care.

 

(Not quite true. Ravus sees him as an extension of Luna’s happiness, and so in that way he won’t care so long as Luna does not care. And Luna doesn’t care.)

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

Noctis burrows his face into the blankets, hiding his wide grin. Yeah, today’s not turning out bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why does the inside of my car smell like rotten fish?" Regis asks.
> 
> Noctis quietly chokes on his water, locking eyes with his friends across the table. " _The Nightmare_ ," he croaks out, and proceeds to put his face in his hands and regret everything, much to the confusion of his father.


End file.
